Everything You Ever
by Jayden Shay
Summary: "There was a man," The demon hurries to say, its eyes focused warily on Castiel's blade, "a man you pulled out of hell, who broke the first seal holding Lucifer's cage. A man who convinced you to help him stop the apocalypse. The righteous man. Michael's true vessel. Ringing any bells?" Dark Destiel, AU Post-season 5.


_I've had this sitting in my WIP folder since about mid-season 6, so I'd say it's more than time I edited it all together and put it up for public consumption. Heed the warnings on future chapters - this is going to be dark._

Heaven is empty.

Not literally; all around Castiel are his brothers and sisters, and God's presence can be felt – if not seen – once again. It is perfect. It is victory through a failed apocalypse after far too long. The victory is hollow though, and Castiel doesn't know why.

He serves God, whom he loves, and worships him gladly. It brings him gladness to carry out God's work: punishing the evildoers and purging the last of the demons from the earth. They have run scared from his blade, and it is not long before earth will once again be paradise.

He is a good soldier. He is God's soldier.

Still, he wanders the earth. Castiel is no longer a watcher, but able to act. He wanders and sees things that make him wonder, and eventually Castiel comes to the conclusion that he is searching for something. Occasionally there's a flicker – he'll hear the low growl of an old engine, or get a strong whiff of gun oil or whiskey – and Castiel experiences the strangest fleeting feeling in his gut. It disappears and then that empty feeling is back. Like he hasn't yet found what he's looking for – like something is missing.

He prays. "Father, is it your will for me to locate some artifact, some devil's gate?" He has been hunting down demons after all. Perhaps that is what his father wants from him. There is never any response, but Castiel has learned to act on faith. God's will is pulling insistently at him, and so Castiel goes.

He ends up in a cemetery somewhere in Kansas, old and abandoned. The wrought iron gate labels it 'Stull Cemetery' and the feeling in Castiel's chest soars. This is obviously where his father intends him to be.

There's no hesitation as he strides forward, eyeing the tombstones for some indication of why he's here. The stench of sulfur is strong in the nostrils of his earthly body. Perhaps a devil's gate is hidden here among this city of bones.

Something flickers from the sparse grass at his feet, and Castiel pauses for a second. The sun has caught some piece of human jewelry, lighting it up like a flame from within the dry grass. It's more than that though, for Castiel can feel the power emanating from the gold band, a force that seems to be calling for something like the hole in his own chest. Maybe this is the answer.

The feeling doesn't stop when he crouches down to examine it further. If anything, it intensifies. Castiel's fingers close around it, and that is when he notices a similar tongue of flame rising to the sky from only a few paces away. Memories of the great wars of history flash through his consciousness – loss, death and unbearable pain, and Castiel knows that this is no human piece of jewelry. The sound of his own blood pounding through his veins thunders in his ears, and he can feel the true wrath of God. This is the ring of War, the horseman. His father must intend that he retrieve it.

It continues to call to its partner even from within Castiel's fist, and the angel follows the shimmering glint of the sun against the metal to the second ring.

It's nearly identical, though the stone and its shape are subtly different. This time, he listens to the ring first, and knows before he picks it up that it was once the ring of Pestilence. Castiel is prepared for the wave of nausea that passes over him, the stench of sickness pervasive enough for a moment to overpower the sulfur. Combined with its brother, they magnify the feeling of longing. His father wants him to find the other rings, and he must.

"Looking for something?" The smell of sulfur grows, and Castiel can tell that it is a demon behind him before he even turns around. The blade he carries within the folds of his trench coat jumps to his hand as he reaches for it, the wrath of God filling his being once more with the desire for justice.

It wears the face of a middle-aged man, his accent decidedly British. Underneath though, Castiel can see the ugliness there. The snarling, rotting flesh and black presence curdling it's host's blood. It holds another ring between its fingers. "The ring of Famine, perhaps?"

Castiel draws his sword, and it shines brighter than the sun, sending the demon cowering back in fear, ducking behind a headstone to escape its flame. It burns through him, with him, the power of it propelling him forward towards the demon he's about to rid the earth of.

It's scrambling backwards still, tripping over the stones as it throws its hands up. For balance or surrender, Castiel can't tell, but he hesitates. Never before has a demon tried to surrender, let alone refused to escape by smoking out of its host. Maybe they've simply gotten smarter, but it gives him pause.

"Whoa, not so fast there Cassy. I'm prepared to hand over the ring, but you'll want me alive."

"Why would I want you alive?" Castiel asks it, facing down the cowardly demon. "You are a wicked creature, and my orders are to destroy you all. What use could you possibly be to me alive?"

"You'll have questions. Here," it offers up the horseman's ring to him, shaking its head like he figures it's easier to show him than try to explain, cautiously edging forward, "just - catch."

It tosses the ring towards him and Castiel reaches for it on reflex alone, giving the demon an opening. His fingers seize the cold metal from the air, but the demon hasn't moved.

Immediately, there's a bright flash of longing – a different one than the other rings are making him feel. It's heady, earthy, lustful. He feels the tangle of limbs, the slip of skin against skin, of soft curves and hard lines all wrapped up into one. It burns like a fire underneath his skin, and Castiel is much too hot, but it's good, so good.

He gives himself over to the sensations, and they overtake him mercilessly. There's the searing heat of a soul laid bare, flesh under his hands. The feeling of stubble is rough against his body in places he's never truly felt. It's overwhelming, and Castiel's shaking with it, bright green eyes drilling all the way down to his grace.

He's gasping for air when the feeling finally ends, when it recedes enough for him to focus again on the demon in front of him. "What," He pants, unable to catch his breath for a moment, "What was that?"

The demon smiles, and Castiel is suddenly worried that he's made a terrible mistake. "Like I said, the ring of Famine. Tell me Cassy, what is it you're starving for?" The look on his face suggests that he knows.

"What manner of wickedness are you attempting to lead me into?" Castiel asks, ignoring him. "I will not abide,"

"You really have forgotten," The demon cuts him off, grinning despite the fact that his hands are still up in the air in a gesture of surrender. "And here I always thought they were lying about the heavenly brain bleach."

There are so many questions Castiel has running through his mind, but he's unwilling to ask them of this demon. At the same time, this feels like something forbidden, like it needs to be hidden. It's not something he can ask of the host, of his father. This may be his only chance for answers.

"What was that?" He demands, alert and holding his blade out again. "What did you do to me?" The heat won't leave him, pooling between his legs in a way that's completely foreign to him.

"You tell me." The demon challenges him. "The ring would have shown you what you're starving for. So tell me then, what does our little angel desire above all else? I'm guessing it wasn't daddy." His voice is taunting, and Castiel has to make a conscious effort to keep his righteousness under control. He should destroy this insolent creature of filth.

Instead, he's frustrated. He wants to rage, because he doesn't know what this feeling is, or why he desires it so much, and there's nowhere to turn but this abomination. "Explain it to me." He says darkly, tone threatening it to talk back to him. "Why do I feel like this? Why do I need?"

"What did it show you?" The demon looks excited, and a bit like it's trying to hold back a laugh.

It's too personal. Castiel doesn't want to tell him, doesn't want to expose himself this way. Not to his brothers and sisters, and certainly not to this abomination. This feeling is not something light or trivial, and it feels wrong to bare it for this demon's amusement.

He grits his teeth, "Flesh against flesh. Lust. It burns me."

"Amazing," the demon whistles, considering Castiel in a way he has absolutely no right to do. "You don't remember anything? Not one bit?"

The riddles are getting old. Castiel advances on him with his blade, shining bright from his fury. "Tell me." He demands.

"There was a man," The demon hurries to say, its eyes focused warily on Castiel's blade, "a man you pulled out of hell, who broke the first seal holding Lucifer's cage. A man who convinced you to help him stop the apocalypse. The righteous man. Michael's true vessel. Ringing any bells?"

There's a glimmer, a hint of something, but it only dances further out of reach the more he tries to pin it down. It mocks him, because now he knows that he does not know. But if he does not know, then clearly his father has a reason for it. It's forbidden to him, and Castiel cannot question his father's judgment.

"It seems my father has forbidden me such knowledge." He tells the demon, readying his blade to strike. He has no more use for this foul creature.

"Dean," it whimpers, cringing back from his light into the growing shadows of the approaching night, "His name was Dean Winchester."

It's like a dam has burst forth from inside Castiel's head, flooding him with memories. Half-remembered promises, touches – years' worth of memories of life on earth. There are monsters, there is fear and the constant risk of falling, but even more so, there is Dean.

Brilliant green eyes that look at him as if he holds the secrets of the universe in his hands, and dare him to throw them all away just as assuredly. There is skin and flesh, and a pleasure that Castiel doesn't know the words for. There's also a warmth to it, something sacred and shared. It's an incredible closeness – a profound bond.

The rough growl of Dean's prized car fills his head, the bitter taste of come and whisky mingling on his tongue. The smell of leather seats and an old jacket that smells more of gunpowder and oil than it does a skin. Long drives and nights spent marveling at his father's creation. There are whispered sentiments, arguments so violent neither of them end intact - all so passionate that it's all Castiel can think, no wonder heaven is empty. Because this, this messed up, forbidden human-ness, is what he's been seeking all along.

"Jackpot." The demon drawls, and Castiel remembers him too.

"Crowley." Castiel addresses him for the first time, and the demon's sarcastic smile only widens. He shouldn't do this. He's turning his back on his father and his siblings and his station and his duty and his destiny… "Where is he?" The ache in his chest is threatening him with never receding: reaching, yearning, for Dean. Only Dean. It's blasphemy.

"He found a way to follow his brother."

No wonder this cemetery held such a pull towards him. Castiel can see the fall from behind his eyes, Sam's determined leap into the pit in order to atone for his sins and save the world just as God brought him back. Dean had lay there, bloody and broken, mourning his brother, and Castiel had followed instructions. He had healed Dean and Bobby, and returned to heaven, where somehow his memories had been repressed.

He wants them back.

Castiel wants his memories of sin with Dean. The man he fell for.

It should feel like some huge precipice, like a huge decision that has the potential to shatter his world. He's never made a decision for himself, following God through blind faith and obedience, so this should be monumental. But it's not. He's done it before.

And this feels like the only choice he could ever possibly make – a foregone conclusion from the start.

"Take me to him," Castiel commands the demon, because he has raised Dean from perdition once, and he knows he can do it again, heaven's orders or not. But Crowley just laughs.

"No can do," He chuckles, "What makes you think I know where he is down there? Hell is a vast, mostly uncharted territory, and I have no interest in returning there anytime soon. Besides, I'm essentially playing fairy godmother to a few hundred people at present; I'm busy darling."

"You know exactly where he is," Castiel growls, trying to fight the urge to simply smite the demon. He'd forgotten how irritating Crowley was, apparently. "So tell me where to find him, or I will destroy you where you stand."

Crowley rolls his eyes, but Castiel knows he knows he's stuck. "If you follow the river Styx to its source, you'll find a lovely little side gate right into hell. From there, follow the hellhounds. Tell them you want Dean, and they'll take you to him. Oh, and watch out for the demons for godssakes – they'll eat you alive."

"Right." Castiel wants to smite him still, but he refrains, dismissing Crowley with a wave of his hand. The demon can wait. He has a river to travel, and a righteous man to save.


End file.
